


making the most of the night

by superhoney



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Background Benny/Andrea, Background Charlie/Dorothy, Birthday Party, First Kiss, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Power Outage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 16:13:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16579832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney
Summary: Dean isn't exactly looking forward to his thirtieth birthday, but at least the party he has planned to mark its passing will be pretty great. Or so he thinks, until a massive snowstorm causes a power outage on the afternoon of the party. One by one, the guests make their excuses for not being able to attend-- all except for Cas, who Dean can't seem to get a hold of.And then there's a knock on his door.





	making the most of the night

**Author's Note:**

> I'm 21k deep in a new fantasy AU, so naturally, I spent most of yesterday writing this instead. 
> 
> Thank you to Ri for reading this over for me, and for the always excellent suggestions and commentary.

The power goes out at precisely 4:27 PM.

Dean is in the middle of rummaging through the hall closet, trying to find his battered old Monopoly board, when the bare light bulb above him flickers out. Cursing to himself, he steps back into the hall and realizes it isn’t just the one bulb that has burnt out. The whole house is dark, only the strange, eerie white light from the snow outside filtering in through the windows of his little house.

He reaches out and flicks the switch on the wall a few times, just to be sure. Then he crosses his arms over his chest and says, “Well, fuck.”

***

He’s been planning this party for weeks. After all, a guy only turns thirty once, right? And all his friends have been so busy lately, hardly having any time to hang out like they all used to when they were younger and had fewer responsibilities. Dean doesn’t blame them for it-- hell, he’s busy enough himself-- but he does miss them. So a birthday party seemed like the perfect way to convince everyone to get together for a night, to eat some good food and have a few drinks and just catch up.

This snowstorm is throwing a wrench into his awesome plan, and he is not pleased about it.

It’s not yet fully dark, so he goes around the house lighting candles in all the rooms on the main floor. His father, a former Marine, taught him to always be prepared for any kind of emergency situation-- and sue him, Dean loves scented candles, so he has them all over the place. They lend a festive air to the unnaturally quiet rooms, and he starts to think that maybe this isn’t so bad. If the power stays out for too long, the beer will get warm, but plenty of the snacks he’s prepared can be eaten at room temperature, and the most important thing about any party is the people, anyway.

So it isn’t until he gets the call from Benny that he really starts to worry about the evening.

“Dean, hey,” Benny says, a hint of a strain in his voice even over the phone. “Happy birthday, brother.”

“Thanks, man.” Dean settles onto the couch and watches the fluffy flakes of snow drift down outside the window. It’s a pain in the ass sometimes, but the snow sure is pretty. “But you can’t be calling just to wish me well. You can do that later.”

There’s a slight pause, and then Benny sighs. “Look, I’m real sorry. But I don’t think Andrea and I are going to make it over tonight.”

“What do you mean?” Benny had been almost as excited about this party as Dean was. To cancel now--

“The girls have been freaked out by the storm,” Benny explains. “I don’t want to leave them alone, especially not with a new babysitter. Even if the power does come back on, I doubt they’d be happy about us heading out somewhere without them.”

Dean winces. Of course. Benny’s twin daughters are five years old, endlessly rambunctious most of the time, but it stands to reason that they’d get a bit nervous during a weather event like this. He should have realized that right away. “No, hey, I get it,” he says quickly. “Bad timing, but the girls come first. I know.”

“We’ll make it up to you, I promise,” Benny says. “I really am sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Dean manages to keep his voice cheerful despite the sinking feeling in his chest. “Hug those girls for me, and tell Andrea I’ll do my best to crush everyone at Risk on her behalf.”

“You got it.”

Dean ends the call and drops his phone onto the couch beside him with a sigh. He stares out at the snow for a moment longer, then checks his battery level and is relieved to note it’s at 88%. He has a feeling Benny isn’t going to be the only one to call with bad news.

Over the next few hours, he’s proven correct. First Charlie sends a string of texts explaining how she and Dorothy are stuck a few hours away after their big LARP event. The storm is even worse out that way, she reports, and the roads are a mess, so they’re going to stay another night and somehow work it into the storyline. Dean doesn’t want to think about Charlie’s tiny, ridiculous yellow car on the roads in these conditions, so he’s more than okay with her decision. He wishes her luck, sends a string of sword and crown emojis, and tries not to think about how much fun she’ll be having without him.

The biggest disappointment, though, is when Sam calls just after seven o’clock. He’d sent Dean a few texts earlier in the day saying his flight had been delayed, but that the airline had assured him things would be back to normal soon. Apparently, that was just the line they liked to use to placate frantic travellers.

“The flights are all cancelled,” Sam reports now. “I’m so sorry, Dean. I should have taken the extra day off like you suggested and flown out yesterday instead of leaving it to the last minute.”

“It’s not your fault,” Dean assures him, voice steady even as he grips his phone hard enough to make his knuckles turn white. “To be honest, I’d prefer to know you were sitting around safe and sound in some airport drinking overpriced beer rather than in a flying metal death trap in weather like this.”

Sam snorts with laughter. “Yeah, well, there is that. I’m going to hang out here for a little while longer, try to get some better answers about what to expect, but I doubt anything will be resolved until tomorrow.”

“Right.” Dean swallows back his frustration and runs a hand through his hair. “This sucks.”

“I know.” Sam’s voice turns gentle. “I really wanted to be there, Dean.”

And that’s the worst part. Dean’s gotten to a place in his life where he’s mostly happy. He’s got a home, he’s got a decent job, and he’s got awesome people he likes spending time with. If he were spending his birthday alone because he was a miserable bastard with no friends, at least he could thrive on his own bitterness. But no. He’s spending his birthday-- his thirtieth birthday-- alone, because the universe hates him. 

“Yeah, well,” Dean says as brightly as he can manage, “more snacks for me.”

Sam scoffs. “There’s that silver lining. Listen, there’s something going on at the ticket counter. I’m going to go take a look. I’ll keep you posted, okay?”

“Okay,” Dean replies, because what the hell else is he supposed to say? “Stay safe, Sammy.”

“Yeah, you too.”

The line goes dead, and Dean taps the screen of his phone thoughtfully before pulling up his contact list. He’s now heard from everyone who was supposed to come tonight, except for Cas.

Might as well get disappointed while the disappointing’s good, he figures. The phone rings for a long time before Cas’ deep voice tells him to leave a message at the tone. Dean doesn’t bother. He just drops his phone onto the table and grabs his laptop, thankful that he keeps it fully charged and stocked with downloaded episodes of all his favourite TV shows. Looks like it’ll just be him and Dr. Sexy tonight.

When someone knocks on his door just after nine, horrifying images of one of his elderly neighbours in distress flash through Dean’s mind. He should have checked in with them earlier instead of lying around feeling sorry for himself. He’s up off the couch in an instant, stumbling down the hall and throwing the open the front door. But instead of Missouri or Mildred or Frank standing there, it’s Cas.

Dean blinks at him for a moment, then says, “Cas?”

“The icicle version of him, yes.” Cas’ words are muffled by the thick blue scarf around the lower part of his face, and as Dean stands frozen in the doorway, he pushes his way inside the house and shuts the door firmly behind himself. “I hope you have whiskey.”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean’s still trying to process as Cas unwraps the scarf from around his face, scattering snowflakes all over Dean’s entryway. “Cas, what the hell are you doing here?”

Pausing with one glove on and one off, Cas raises an eyebrow at him. “Today is January 24th, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

Cas shrugs and continues taking off his cold weather gear. “I told you I’d be here for your birthday.”

Dean opens his mouth, then shuts it again. He peers out the window beside the door and doesn’t see Cas’ crappy gold monstrosity of a car in the driveway. “Did you _walk_ here?”

“I thought the ‘icicle version’ statement made that clear.” Cas is stripping off his boots now, and the curve of his spine as he bends over distracts Dean for a split-second before he focuses on the subject at hand. 

“Cas, you live, what, a half hour’s walk away?”

“More like forty five minutes wading through the snow, but yes.” Cas straightens up, grimacing. “My jeans are soaked. Can I borrow a pair of sweatpants?”

Dean stares at him, something warm settling in his chest despite the chill that blew in when he opened the door. Stubborn, committed, irritable Cas. He walked all the way over here, in the middle of a snowstorm that caused a city-wide power outage, just because he had told Dean he would be here, and he wasn’t one to break his promises. And now all he’s asking Dean for is a pair of sweatpants.

“Yeah,” Dean says, voice rough, “of course you can.”

He grabs a hoodie as well, figuring Cas will probably be more comfortable in that than in the rather nice dark purple sweater he’s currently wearing, and leaves them in the bathroom for Cas to change into. A few minutes later, Cas emerges in his borrowed clothes, hair ruffled and so soft-looking Dean wants to reach out and stroke it away from his face. “Your bathroom smells like Gabriel’s bakery,” he says.

Dean winces. “Oh, yeah. I’ve got candles everywhere, you know, with the power out, and that one is, uh, cinnamon sugar doughnut, maybe? I can blow it out if it bothers you.”

Cas just lifts one eyebrow. “Don’t,” he says. “It smells delicious.”

They stand there, staring at each other, and Dean is suddenly all too aware of the emptiness of the house around them, the way the candles lend a soft, almost romantic glow to the quiet rooms. If he’s being completely honest with himself, he’s always had a bit of a thing for Cas, ever since he moved here three years ago and started working in the building across from Dean’s. They would run into each other at the coffee shop on the corner, and eventually struck up a friendship after sharing a table on particularly busy days. But there’s always been something a little bit guarded about Cas, some part of himself that he holds distant, so Dean has never pushed for more. 

Except now he’s here, looking frankly adorable in Dean’s lounge wear, having braved the weather to spend his birthday with him. And Dean really, really, really wants to kiss him.

“I made you a pie,” Cas says abruptly, and while the words serve to break the strange tension between them, they also only increase Dean’s desire to close the distance between them and put their lips to other uses than talking. “It was in the oven when the power went out, but it only needed a few more minutes, so I think it should still be edible.” He takes a few steps towards the foyer and comes back with a plastic bag Dean hadn’t noticed before, thrusting it out at him. “I got the recipe from Gabriel. He assured me it was their most popular flavour, but I’ve never heard you talk about pecan pie before, only apple and cherry.” He pauses for a moment, his eyes widening, and says, “You don’t have a nut allergy, do you?”

Dean isn’t sure he’s ever heard so many words from Cas all at once. “Hey,” he says, reaching out to take the bag. “That’s awesome. No, I don’t have a nut allergy. And I love pecan pie.”

“Oh.” Cas clears his throat, pushing a hand through his hair and making it even more deliciously dishevelled than it had been before. “That’s good.”

Dean’s starting to think he dozed off somewhere in the middle of an episode of _Dr. Sexy_ and that this is all some weird dream. He pinches his forearm, just to be sure, and winces at the pain. Okay, not a dream. So he’ll just have to roll with it. “Come on,” he says, ushering Cas further into the house. “I believe you mentioned something about whiskey?”

Five minutes later, they’re seated at Dean’s kitchen table, tumblers of whiskey and plates of maple pecan pie in front of them. The flavours pair together perfectly, and when Dean takes his first bite, his eyes flutter closed in appreciation. He can’t even tell that it’s slightly underdone. “This is amazing,” he says, opening his eyes. Cas is watching him, his own pie untouched, as though Dean’s reaction is the only thing that matters. “Seriously, Cas, this is awesome. Thanks for making me a pie, and you know, coming over despite the weather and all.”

Cas shrugs and finally takes a bit of his own pie. “It seemed like the right thing to do. No one else could make it?”

“No.” Dean reaches for his whiskey, taking a slow sip. He splurged on the good stuff for tonight. “Benny’s girls got scared with the storm, so he didn’t want to leave them, and both Charlie and Sam’s travel plans got messed up because of the snow.”

“Oh.” Cas puts down his fork, shoulders tensing. “You were probably enjoying a night on your own, then. I’m sorry I interrupted you.” He moves as though to stand, as though he’s going to walk back out into the snow, and Dean panics.

“No, hey, wait,” Dean says, reaching across the table. “Cas, I’m really glad you’re here. I was just sitting around watching _Dr. Sexy_ and feeling sorry for myself. I’d much rather hang out with you.”

Cas pauses, then sits back down. He gives Dean a long, thoughtful look. “I don’t see why it has to be one or the other.”

Dean blinks at him. “Sorry?”

A slow smile breaks across Cas’ face. “I love _Dr. Sexy_.”

Dean points an accusatory finger at him, frowning. “How is it that we’ve been friends for almost three years and I’m only learning this now? We’ve missed out on so many marathons.”

“I suppose we should start making up for lost time, then.” Cas rises to his feet again, but this time, he takes his pie and his whiskey with him, marching off in the direction of the living room. Dean just stares after him, confused and more than a little turned on, then scrambles to his feet and follows.

The problem-- or maybe not a problem at all-- with watching something on a laptop is how it essentially forces two people to sit on the couch together so they can both see the screen. And Dean’s couch really isn’t that big. So now he and Cas have only a few scant inches between them as they pick up where Dean left off, somewhere in the middle of the fourth season. 

“This is the episode where Dr. Sexy delivers the baby in the middle of the street, right?” Cas asks as they settle in.

Dean turns his head to glare at him. “Spoilers, Cas!”

A look of utter bafflement crosses Cas’ face before he realizes he’s being teased. He rolls his eyes and kicks lightly at Dean’s foot where it rests on the floor between them. “Like you haven’t seen every episode at least twice.”

“Three times, probably.” Dean isn’t ashamed of his obsession. A long time ago, when he was younger and less secure in himself, maybe. But there are far worse things to be than a fan of some ridiculous, harmless medical drama. 

Cas grins at him, the light from the screen glinting in his eyes. “I’ve got you beat, then. I’ve seen the early seasons four times.”

Dean lets out a low whistle. “Dedicated fan,” he comments.

“Hermit,” Cas corrects. But the humour has slipped from his voice, and there’s something tense in the way he holds himself as he turns back to the screen. 

Frowning, Dean does the same. After a few more minutes of silence, Cas makes an offhand comment about the size of the baby meant to be a newborn, and the tension vanishes. They keep a running commentary through two more episodes, quoting lines before they’re said on screen and tensing before the big reveals.

And then Dean’s laptop battery dies.

“Shit,” he says under his breath. “Sorry, Cas. Should have known that would happen sooner or later.”

They’re sitting close enough together that Dean can almost feel the movement of Cas’ shoulders as he shrugs. “I’m impressed that it lasted this long. My phone was already in the red zone when the power went out, so it’s been dead all day.”

That explains why he didn’t call before he came over, or why he didn’t answer when Dean called. “Mine still has a charge,” he offers. “Is there anyone you need to call to check in with?”

“No,” Cas says quietly, looking away. “No one.”

The same sadness that coloured his earlier remark about being a hermit is back. Under most circumstances, Dean would let it pass, make some joke to try to bring a smile back to Cas’ face and move past it. But now, with the candles flickering around them and their breathing the only sound in the room, he asks, “What did you mean, earlier? About being a hermit?”

Cas turns to face him and shrugs again. “I don’t make friends easily,” he says. It both is and isn’t an answer. “I spend most of my time at home alone, reading or watching TV.”

A lump rises in Dean’s throat as he reconsiders tonight’s events in light of this statement. He’s never really thought of Cas as lonely before, maybe because they usually see each other in busy public places like the coffee shop near their offices or a local bar they’ve gone to after work with a few other people. But those other people are always Dean’s friends, the ones he’s had for years. He’d like to think they’re Cas’ friends too, by now, but it strikes him that Cas has never brought anyone else, has never introduced Dean to any of his friends.

It only makes his presence here feel more precious. 

“So, here’s the thing,” Dean says, sitting up straight on the couch. “Originally, I had this whole epic party planned. Board games, snacks, midnight pizza if we needed it. Charlie threatened to bring her karaoke machine at one point. But most of those things are out the window now. It’s just you and me. And what’s left of that pie.”

Cas looks at him for a moment, and then smiles slowly. “I’m okay with that.”

“Awesome.” Dean gets to his feet and gently pushes Cas back down when he moves to follow. “Nah, you stay here. Relax. I’m going to get us a refill, and the rest of that pie, and then we’re just going to hang out.”

He hums to himself as he pours them both new glasses of whiskey, some cheesy song he heard on the radio earlier in the day. Catchy, though. He blows out the candles in the kitchen for now, since he doesn’t like the thought of them burning too long unattended, then heads back to the living room.

Cas has stretched out a bit in his absence, slumped against the arm of the couch with one knee drawn up beside him. He looks up at Dean’s entrance and reaches out for the glass of whiskey with a nod of thanks. “I almost forgot,” he says, gesturing to Dean to sit down. He raises his glass and clinks it lightly against Dean’s. “Happy birthday, Dean.”

Dean takes a sip of his drink and swallows it slowly, relishing the warmth as it travels down his throat. “Thanks for being here, Cas,” he replies. It comes out softer than he intended, more serious, so he takes another sip to cover it. “Can’t believe I’m thirty. God, I feel old.”

Cas snorts, a sound Dean has never heard from him before. “From the ripe old age of thirty-two, let me assure you, you’re not.”

Dean hadn’t known how old Cas was until now. He’s slowly realizing how little they actually know about each other. He knows Cas has a brother, Gabriel, who owns a bakery in Chicago. That Cas moved to Lawrence from there three years ago, that he lives alone, that he works for the consulting firm in the building opposite Dean’s, that he takes his coffee black and likes honey in his tea. That he’s dry and sarcastic most of the time, but with a surprising vulnerability beneath it. And now, thanks to tonight, he knows Cas likes _Dr. Sexy_.

“When’s your birthday?” he asks. “Maybe we should start planning something cool for then.”

“September 18th,” Cas answers. “But please, no parties.”

“Alright, no parties,” Dean agrees easily. “But something like this. Come on, man, you showed up for my birthday when no one else did. You’ve got to let me return the favour.”

“Fine.” Castiel sighs, but there’s a hint of a smile tucked into the corners of his mouth. “I doubt you’ll even remember by September, anyway.”

Dean makes a dismissive gesture and picks his phone up off the side table. “I’m going to put it in my calendar right now. There.” He turns the screen to show Cas where he’s inputted the information. “September 18th. Make Cas’ birthday awesome.”

“I tremble in anticipation of what that may involve,” Cas says with a shake of his head. “The last time someone tried to make an event of my birthday, there were balloons and cartoon characters involved.”

“Yikes.” Dean raises his glass and clinks it against Cas’. “Here’s to better birthdays in the future.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Cas says fervently, and he does. 

The combination of the whiskey and the darkness is starting to make Dean sleepy despite the fact that it’s only just after midnight. He drains the last few sips from his glass and places it on the table with a gentle thud. “Man, we should do this more often,” he says, head lolling back onto the couch cushions. “This is nice.”

Cas takes a moment to answer. “Yeah,” he says eventually. “It is. Maybe I can call up someone at the power station and have them flip a few switches every few months.”

It takes a second for the joke to register, it’s so flatly delivered, and then Dean bursts into laughter. He reaches out and lightly shoves at Cas’ shoulder, sending him sprawling against the other side of the couch. “Man, you are such a sarcastic little shit,” he says.

Cas pulls himself back up and raises his chin in the air. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, Downton Abbey.” Dean reaches out to shove him again, but Cas is better balanced this time, and he doesn’t budge. His shoulder is firm with muscle under the soft material of his borrowed sweatshirt, and Dean takes longer than he should to pull his hand away. 

But then Cas reaches out and grabs his wrist. 

“Dean,” he says. His voice is low, even rougher than usual. His hand is big and warm and lightly callused, and they’re only touching at that one place but Dean feels it through his entire body. “You--”

Once again, Dean starts to wonder if he’s dreaming. He swallows roughly, eyes locked onto Cas’. He doesn’t pull his hand away.

“You never made a birthday wish,” Cas says. If it weren’t for the way his grip tightens ever so slightly as he says the words, Dean would think he’s reading way too much into the situation. But Cas’ eyes are wide, and his lips softly parted, and Dean has had enough of pretending he hasn’t wanted this since pretty much the first day they met. 

He gently tugs his hand free of Cas’ grasp and reaches for the closest candle. He holds it out in front of himself with both hands, meeting Cas’ eyes over the top of the flickering flame. “I wish--” he says, then blows out the candle.

A second later, Cas’ hands close around his, guiding him to place the candle back on the table. “You didn’t say what you wished for.”

“If you say it out loud, it won’t come true.” Dean’s heart is pounding in his chest, and though there are a few other candles still burning in the room, his eyes are still adjusting to the loss of the closest one. He feels rather than sees Cas shifting closer. 

“You have to tell me what you want, though.” Cas’ voice is barely above a whisper now. “I’ll make it come true. I promise.”

So Dean lets out a shaky breath, twines his fingers more closely with Cas’, and says, “Kiss me.”

And Cas does.

It’s soft at first, tentative and sweet. The barest brush of lips, and then Cas pulls back. “I’m not drunk,” he says abruptly. “Are you?”

It’s a fair question. Dean isn’t drunk on anything other than the feel of Cas’ lips, the surprising softness of them pressed against his own. “No,” he says. “No, Cas. I’ve wanted to do that for a long time. I just never--” he shrugs, uneasy. “Never thought you’d be interested.”

Cas lets out a strangled little laugh and slides even closer, closing the distance between them. “Dean, I made you a pie. I walked over here in the middle of a snowstorm. I thought I was making my feelings pretty damn clear.”

Dean can’t think of a good answer to that, so he just kisses Cas again.

Cas sighs into it, arches up against Dean, the long, gorgeous lines of his body straining towards him. Dean wraps his arms around Cas’ waist and pulls him into his lap, needing him closer. Cas takes a second to recover his balance, then slips one hand to the back of Dean’s head and the other to his waist and proceeds to kiss him like his life depends on it.

He tastes a bit like whiskey and a bit like pecan pie and Dean can’t get enough of it, enough of him. “Cas,” he says. Or maybe groans. He can’t be held responsible for the noises he’s making right now, not with the way Cas is sucking dark marks into the side of his neck, his breath hot against Dean’s skin. “Cas.”

With obvious reluctance, Cas pulls away, far enough to look into Dean’s eyes. “Yes, Dean?”

“Can I--” Dean lowers his hands to the hem of the sweatshirt Cas is wearing and hears his sudden intake of breath. “Can I take this off?”

Cas’ answer is to pull the offending garment off itself. And to take the t-shirt underneath with it at the same time. 

“Oh.” Not for the first time tonight, Dean suddenly loses his words. Cas has a tattoo. A few simple lines of text over one sharply curved hip, nothing extravagant, but still enough to make Dean’s mouth go completely dry. He reaches out, then pauses, waiting for Cas’ nod before he traces over the lines of ink with one careful fingertip. “We do not enter the same river twice,” he reads. “That’s beautiful.”

He can feel the tremble of Cas’ muscles beneath his touch, the way he’s holding himself still with great effort. “I’ll tell you more about it,” Cas says. “But not right now. Right now--” he tugs at Dean’s shirt-- “right now this needs to go.”

The candlelight lends a warm glow to their bare skin, and Cas seems just as enthralled by the sight of Dean’s torso as Dean is by his. He reaches out and places one hand right in the centre of Dean’s chest, then leans forward to press a kiss there. Dean sighs and twines his fingers in Cas’ dark hair, which is somehow even softer than it looks. His grip tightens a second later when Cas’ mouth closes over one nipple, biting down with just enough pressure to cause Dean to gasp in pleasure. 

He shifts slightly, trying not to press up into Cas too much. He’s hard in his sweatpants and he knows the cotton won’t do a thing to hide the effect Cas is having on him. But Cas follows him, kissing his way across Dean’s collarbone, and suddenly his own hardness is pressing against Dean’s thigh. Dean lets out a muffled curse and drops his hands from Cas’ hips to his ass. Cas lets out a groan and thrusts himself forward, bringing them into even closer contact. “Dean,” he mumbles, words spoken right into the soft skin at the juncture of Dean’s neck and shoulder. “Dean, I need--”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” Dean’s panting now, breathing choppy and uneven. “Tell me what you need, Cas.”

Cas shudders against him and rocks forward again. He fumbles with the waist of his sweatpants, and Dean moans as he realizes where this is heading. He shifts his own hips so he can push his pants out of the way and draws out his hard cock, stroking it slowly as Cas does the same.

“Can I touch you, Cas?” he asks. He’s never heard his own voice sound so close to a growl, but everything about Cas is so focused, so intense, that the dial has been cranked up to eleven on this whole encounter. “Tell me I can touch you.”

“Please,” Cas says, and that’s all the invitation Dean needs.

He gathers them both in one hand, Cas’ forehead dropping down to rest against his as they watch their hard lengths slide through Dean’s loose grip. Cas is hot and thick and feels so fucking good against him that Dean isn’t sure how long he can possibly last. Fortunately, judging by the sharply bitten off words Cas is muttering, he’s in a similar state. 

“Christ, you’re gorgeous,” Dean says, raising his eyes to meet Cas’ for a brief second. With his free hand, he traces over the lines of Cas’ tattoo again. “And full of surprises.”

Cas laughs, tipping his head back and putting the strong lines of his neck and jaw on shameless display. Dean can’t resist-- he presses a kiss to the hollow of Cas’ throat and delights in the shiver it sends through Cas’ entire body. He’s so close now. “Come on,” he encourages, tightening his grip on their cocks and moving his hand faster. “Let me see you, Cas.”

Cas stiffens in his arms, his entire body tensing and then releasing with a wordless cry. He spills warm and wet over Dean’s hand and Dean strokes him through it, still chasing his own pleasure. Languidly, Cas reaches down between them and barely has to touch Dean’s cock before he’s coming on a sharply indrawn breath. 

They exchange soft kisses in the aftermath, more for the comfort of touch than anything else. “Best birthday ever,” Dean mutters, and feels Cas tense.

“Hey,” he says, tilting his chin up with his clean hand. “Not like that. The sex was great, obviously, but--”

“But it was just the icing on the cake?” Cas’ tone is light, but there’s still a hint of wariness in his eyes. 

Dean laughs and kisses him until it eases, not just on his lips but on his cheeks, his nose, his forehead. “Yeah,” he says. “Or the ice cream on the pie.” He draws back and plants one more firm kiss on Cas’ lips. “Don’t you dare go questioning this on me, okay? I’m so glad you were here tonight, Cas. Really. Best birthday ever.”

Finally, Cas smiles. “You’re going to have a lot to live up to by the time mine rolls around, then.”

Dean’s breath catches in his throat at the acknowledgment of a future for the two of them, one that hopefully includes many more nights just like this. It feels like too big of a thing to give more voice to now, so he just hums lightly and rubs his nose against Cas’ shoulder, making him laugh softly. Cas’ body is solid and warm above him, and Dean kind of never wants to move from this spot, but he knows they won’t stay comfortable for long. 

“Come on,” he says, gently nudging Cas’ shoulder to dislodge him. “We should get cleaned up.”

Cas sighs, but gets to his feet, tucking himself back into his sweatpants but leaving his shirts crumpled on the floor. He looks out the window, his back to Dean, and Dean takes a moment to admire the breadth of his shoulders, the play of muscles across his back. “It’s stopped snowing,” he announces.

Dean crosses the room and wraps his arms around Cas from behind. He lets out a surprised noise at first, then relaxes back into his hold. “No way I’m letting you back out there, snowing or not,” Dean says, dropping a kiss to his bare shoulder. 

Cas turns in his arms and gives him a slow, decidedly mischievous smile. “Good,” he says. “Because I have plans.”

Despite his very recent orgasm, Dean’s body definitely takes note of the heat in Cas’ voice. “Good,” he manages to echo. “Yeah, that’s really good.” Slipping his hand into Cas’, he blows out the rest of the candles and leads him upstairs to his bedroom, where Cas proceeds to give him a very thorough overview of what, exactly, those plans are.

***

In the morning, Dean wakes to an empty bed, but he can hear someone clattering around in the kitchen, so he doesn’t let his immediate panic sink in. The spot beside him in the bed has gone cold, so Cas must have been up for a while. Impressive, considering how many times they woke up in the night, starved for each other again. Now, Dean’s stomach rumbles loudly at him, reminding him that he’s starved in another way entirely.

He throws his robe on over his plaid pyjama pants and makes his way downstairs, following the smell of coffee. Apparently, the power is back on. Cas is standing with his back to the hall, opening the oven to peer at something inside, but he turns at Dean’s approach and gives him such a broad, beautiful smile that Dean’s heart turns over in his chest.

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean says. “Got coffee?”

“Good morning,” Cas replies. He pours Dean a mug, adds a splash of milk without being prompted-- all those hours sharing a table at the coffee shop have paid off, apparently-- and brings it over to Dean, dropping a kiss on his cheek as he hands it over. “You should probably get dressed.”

Dean frowns at him. Honestly, he had been thinking the exact opposite. “Do I have to?” he asks plaintively.

Cas just shrugs. “Technically, no. But in about--” he looks down at his phone, resting on the counter beside him-- “half an hour, five other people are going to descend on your house for birthday brunch, so you may want to consider at least putting on a shirt.” He gives Dean a long, slow once-over that sends a pleasant shiver through his entire body. “Not that I’m complaining.”

It’s enough to distract Dean, but only for a second. “What do you mean? Five people?” 

A small smile hovers around Cas’ lips. “I was up early this morning,” he explains. “I might have gotten my phone charged and made a few calls to Benny, Charlie, and Sam. Since they couldn’t be here last night, they’re joining us today.”

Dean puts his mug down with a decisive thud. He takes a step forward, and Cas’ eyes widen. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “Did you want to spend a quiet day at home? I should have asked first--”

His words are cut off on a gasp as Dean presses their lips together, pouring all his gratitude, his affection, and his surprise into that one kiss. “You’re so goddamn good to me,” he says when they finally pull apart. “God, Cas.”

“Well.” Cas’ cheeks are flushed, his eyes blown wide, and Dean thinks he’s never looked more gorgeous. “It is your birthday, after all.”

“Not anymore,” Dean points out. “But I appreciate the extension.”

“Don’t get too used to it,” Cas warns, but he’s still smiling. “I’m not usually this cheerful in the mornings.”

Somehow, that doesn’t surprise Dean at all. He laughs and leans forward to nip lightly at Cas’ ear. “You will be if you’re spending your nights with me,” he says, and is pleased when Cas’ body shakes with laughter against his.

They’re still standing pressed together, sipping at their coffee, when Dean hears the front door open. Cas gives him an inquisitive look and follows him out into the hallway, where a tall figure is shaking snow off his boots. “Sammy?” Dean says, startled. “How the hell did you get here so fast?”

“I charmed the ticket agent into getting me on the first flight out.” Sam grins at him, revealing the dimples that probably went a long way towards that charm offensive. His smile only widens when he takes in Dean’s attire. “Surprise, jerk.”

Cas clears his throat and steps out from behind Dean, extending one hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sam,” he says, completely nonchalant about the fact that he’s wearing Dean’s KU t-shirt and a pair of pyjama pants that are slightly too long for him. “We spoke on the phone earlier. Cas Novak.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Cas,” Sam says, shaking his hand and turning to give Dean a sly look. “I’ve heard a lot about you, but I have to say, I was expecting to be the first one here this morning.”

“Wow, Sam,” Dean mutters under his breath, pushing a hand through his hair. “Subtle.”

Sam adopts his most innocent expression, which hasn’t fooled Dean since they were kids. Fortunately, Cas seems more amused than offended by Sam’s blatant fishing for details. “I spent the night,” he says blandly. “I could provide details of exactly how I spent it, but I don’t think you’d want to hear them.”

Dean just stares at him, and Cas gives a small shrug. “What? I have a brother too, you know.”

Sam lets out a laugh and slings a casual arm over Cas’ shoulder, steering him back towards the kitchen. “I think we’re going to get along just fine,” he says, tossing a grin over his shoulder at Dean. “Now, tell me more about how you and Dean know each other.”

Dean watches them, shaking his head fondly, then darts upstairs to change his clothes. He doesn’t need anyone else commenting on his less-than-formal outfit. 

By the time Benny, Andrea, Charlie, and Dorothy arrive, Cas has snuck away to do the same. Other than Sam’s occasional knowing looks, there’s no indication that anything has happened between Dean and Cas, and as much as he’s having fun, he’s starting to feel a bit guilty about it. He doesn’t want to hide Cas, or this new thing between them. So when Benny presents him with a beautiful apple pie with a large candle in the middle of it and they all sing Happy Birthday to him, Dean meets Cas’ eyes across the room before leaning in to blow it out.

“What did you wish for?” Charlie asks, winking at him. “I bet it was that collector’s edition of the original Star Wars trilogy on Blu-Ray, wasn’t it?”

Dean keeps watching Cas, making a small beckoning gesture with one hand. Frowning slightly, Cas comes over to join him, and Dean scans his eyes for any sign of wariness before slipping his hand into Cas’ and squeezing it tightly. “Nah,” Dean says. “I already got what I wished for.”

Charlie lets out a pleased gasp, Benny raises one eyebrow, and Cas just shakes his head, eyes soft and fond. “That was a terrible line,” he informs Dean, but he doesn’t pull his hand out of Dean’s grasp.

“I know,” Dean says, smiling at him. “But it worked, didn’t it?”

Cas sighs and leans forward, kissing him soundly as their friends break into raucous cheers. “Yeah,” he admits. “It did.”


End file.
